


Fluffy Fictober

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Good Parent Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-07-24 20:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16182992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: A collection of autumn themed shorts all set in an AU where Lucis and Niflheim genuinely sort out a peace treaty.





	1. "Can you feel this?"

**Author's Note:**

> [My Twitter](https://twitter.com/Aithilin)   
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“Can you feel this?” 

Nyx wanted to say that there was nothing Noctis could surprise him with anymore. There was nothing that could compete with the shock of crazed beasts loosed by the Nifs on a battlefield. There was nothing to compete with the gut churning fear of seeing Noctis stumble in training, nursing a bleeding limb or broken bone weeks after that heart-stopping moment. There was nothing like the pressing, pulsing beat of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm every quiet moment, as he counted down the days to his next mission. 

But then there was this smile. 

This soft little thing Noctis offered up just for him. 

They had taken the day out to wander the familiar streets of Insomnia. The autumn leaves only just starting to show now that Nyx had the time to breathe and watch the seasons change. 

“Feel what, little star?” 

“This!” Noctis indicated the city, the world, at large with a sweep of his hand, still holding the paper cup from a cafe they had stopped at when the wanderings had started. “All of this, the actual peace. Not just the illusion of it.”

Nyx was no stranger to the sudden, jaded shift from front lines to city fortifications. He was no stranger to the weary, exhausting fight-or-flight panic of the front lines shifting into a mute anxiety as he watched the Wall shimmer over the ancient stone fortifications of Insomnia. He had watched behemoths clime walls that were half as high; he had watched Niflheim weapons crumble ancient stone arches, remnants of a war that tore the heavens apart. He was used to slipping from the front lines Glaive to the civilian guard. Used to feeling the urge to call borrowed magics at every shadow and screech of a tire. 

But here, like this, he could breathe deep. 

The had days left with the Wall overhead. They had months left with the distant glow of Nif engines glaring at their borders. 

There was a real chance that the peace treaty would be granted. There was a real chance that the Nifs were desperate enough to follow through on their pleas for help facing the Scourge that was eating away their ranks and citizens— leaving outposts destitute while the Oracle sheltered withing Lucis’ protections. 

Seeing Noctis smiling, sugary drink in hand as he pulled his Glaive along the pathway through the transitioning park, Nyx could almost believe that his reassignment was real. He was really spared from the front lines. 

“Yeah,” he answered, pulling Noctis back into step beside him with a light tug on the prince’s arm; “yeah, I feel it.”


	2. “People like you have no imagination.”

“People like you,” Nyx started, half focused on the task at hand and half on the prince watching him from the dining room table; “have no imagination.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, princeling, that you can be very, very boring sometimes.”

There had been celebrations scattered through the city for weeks. At first they were isolated, and then they spread with the news. There were small sparks of hope inflamed by the growing list of confirmed promises presented across new station and airwave across the kingdom. Noctis had verified the stories coming from the Citadel— the long days he was dragged from meeting to meeting to support his father, to present the Lucis Caelum line as a unified force to the kingdom and negotiators. 

Even the refugees were starting to celebrate. 

Someone had to teach the Lucians how it was done. 

“You didn’t seem to think I was boring—”

“Don’t say it. It’s tacky and unbecoming a prince.”

They shared a matching grin, before Nyx had managed to complete his inventory of Noctis’ cupboards. There was going to be a party. A proper one. Family and friends only, hosted at Libertus’ spacious place. Family and friends, and one prince with his retinue of boring Lucians. And no one could arrive empty handed. 

But it was autumn, and the time for harvests and wealth, and just a touch of creativity to balance out the whole mess that made up the rest of the year. 

“You’re bringing a pie,” Nyx announced. All the basics were there. All the things he needed to show off a bit of his own limited skills. Harvests and pies always went well together. 

“A pie? Nyx, seriously, I was going to grab some wine or—”

“No, that’s what I said was boring. You’re doing a pie. Now come here.”

“I can’t bake.”

“You’ll learn. Come here.”

Noctis’ kitchen was well stocked with anything Nyx could have imagined ever needing for this little task. For this afternoon he planned for them. They would be up to their elbows in a mess that Ignis would have their hides for, but he insisted that Libertus would know the difference between homemade and bought at the last minute. 

This impression was everything. Nyx wanted it to be perfect in every way that he could make it. In a few hours, they would have a treat worthy of a get together with Nyx’s closest friends. They would have a carefully wrapped apple pie, that had all the sweetness of a Lucian dessert ready to be sampled by the fiercest Galahdian patriots there were. 

Nyx knew that it would go over perfectly. He knew just how charming Noctis could be. He knew just how gentle Libertus wanted to be. If the Nifs could extend peace for the sake of Eos, so could Libertus. 

“And what are you bringing?” Noctis asked when he was rolling out the fresh dough to as precise a size as Nyx could instruct. 

“The drinks,” Nyx had set himself on the task of preparing the filling while Noctis worked. “And before you say it, the drinks aren’t boring. I know what I’m doing with those.”

“Sure. I’m the one without an imagination.”

“Can it, little king.”

“Make me, hero.”


	3. "How can I trust you?"

“How can I trust you?”

Noctis had been prepared for this to some extent. He had been ready for this sort of disbelief, this rejection. He had, on some level, expected to be met at the doorway with this wide-eyed, awkward pushback. He had expected the phrase to be whispered through gritted teeth, for Gladio to be stepping in between them with a growled warning. He had expected the situation to need Ignis’ delicate diplomatic diffusion. Or at the very least Nyx’s firm plying with drinks and promises of polite distance. 

Instead, Libertus dropped it out over dinner. It had sounded like casual conversation as Ignis spoke to Crowe at great lengths about the treaties being drafted and what they meant for the allied territories once under Lucian protection. It had been left across the discussion and party like a blanket— a statement of fact that Libertus refused to elaborate on while Ignis mentally prepared a diplomatic rebuttal. 

Noctis could see the machinations in his friend’s mind in the few seconds they had in the awkward hush of the challenge. 

“You can’t. And you probably shouldn’t, but that doesn’t mean I’m not on your side.”

All eyes turned to Noctis when he spoke, and he met Libertus’ confusion with an even gaze of his own. It was the one reserved for meeting and delicate matters, when facts were met with facts and the fate of nations were decided on the actions of a prince and king behind locked doors. It was the look his father had taught him over the years, when a simple truth mattered more than all the diplomatic tongue twisters and courtly mannerisms ever could. He brought the Galahdian beer Nyx had secured to his lips, only for the excuse to hide his nerves at the sudden shift. 

And all at once, Ignis and Nyx were trying to step in. Crowe was scolding her friends for trying to ruin a perfectly good meal, Ignis was about to bring out his phone where half of the treaty notes were stored from the most recent meeting. And Nyx…

Nyx was the one who caught the little smirk from Libertus that let him know the evening wasn’t going to come to blows. He relaxed with a quirk of his eyebrow, a challenge to his friend as he took Noctis’ hand in view of the other guests. 

Libertus offered up a shrug in response, “So long as we’re on the same page, highness.”

“I think we are, Sir Ostium.”

“Good,” Libertus offered a salute with his bottle, the tension bleeding out of the room with the simple action. “Because you ain’t getting Nyx for yourself. He has family here and in Galahd.”

“I look forward to meeting everyone,” Noctis smiled, glancing at Nyx with a look that they both knew was going to cause trouble. “He’s told me some stories.”

“Stories!? What kind of lies is he telling now?”


	4. "Will that be all?"

“Will that be all?”

“Yes, Ulric, thank you.”

“Sir.”

The Wall was not going to come down overnight. There were protocols to follow— even if they were thrown together with hasty Council agreements— Guards and Glaives to rearrange as the peace started to spread outward from the city, as the last trepidations of seeing the Niflheim ships overhead bled out to the relief that people were already starting to hope for. There were plans and preparations and careful decisions to be made. 

But not by him. 

All Nyx knew was that he was reassigned, like the other Glaives in his unit, to the Citadel until a more steady rotation could be planned out. Until they could decide where to put all the soldiers carrying elements of the King’s magic now that the siege of Insomnia was effectively over. 

“Actually,” Marshal Leonis looked up from the small stack of reports Nyx had just added to; “you’re close with the prince, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Nyx tried not to stiffen. He tried not to let his apprehension at the question show. 

But nothing had ever escaped the Marshal’s careful watch. 

When they had first met, it had been in the training yards. The War around the peace of the city had raged on for years— the resistance in Galahd crumbling with each passing year. Nyx remembered those first few days in the Crown City, in the first set of ranks to be awarded to the fledgling Kingsglaive. He remembered the heat of the summer afternoon in the training yards, when Luche had laid him out during an inspection. 

Nyx remembered, grinning up at the King and Marshal from the training ground dust, and snapping off a quick salute once back on his feet. He remembered the look of amusement it earned him from the King. 

But he remembered better the stony, cold look from Cor Leonis. The appraisal of his failure laid out for the other recruits, the other Glaives, all still new to their borrowed powers. At the time, he had expected to be torn down under those cold eyes. To hear the King chuckle and admonish his Marshal for the harsh training as they moved on with the newly appointed Captain. 

Instead he learnt the measure of the man the King had trusted with every military movement in the war. 

And here, in the office, under that appraising look, Nyx felt like he was back out on the training yards. Like the sun was beating down on him in full force, and he was fresh from the boot camp they had been signed into. The world could have melted away and left him a cocky, new recruit standing in that office. 

“You understand his position in all this mess, Ulric?”

“Sir?”

There was nothing in the treaty that had mentioned Noctis, as far as Nyx understood. There were no caveats or stipulations, no attempts to remove the prince from his position, or force him into a move that would benefit the Empire. As far as Nyx understood, the King had kept his son out of the negotiations as a pawn. 

Cor straightened in his seat, the stiff backed chair creaking from lack of use. “His Highness is going to be King, one day. Hopefully one day very far away. You understand what that means.”

It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t something that needed a response. But Nyx nodded his understanding all the same. 

If the Prince was to become King, there would need to be little Lucis Caelums running around one day. There would need to be proper matches and setups and royal decrees that were marked with royal marriages. 

“Don’t look so nervous about the whole thing, Ulric. Noctis has already told his father everything.”

“Everything, sir?”

“Everything,” Cor offered a tight smile; “and he wouldn’t be the first Lucian King to propagate the royal line through decree and adoption. Just be prepared for the backlash when it goes public.”

Nyx offered a tight nod. The room may as well have melted away in that moment, the future stretching out in ways he had never considered. “I understand, sir.”

“Good. You’re assigned to his personal guard until further notice. Try to behave.”

It was enough of a dismissal for Nyx. He wanted to bolt from the room, escape the appraisal he had just received from the Marshal. From the King’s friend. From the Prince’s uncle. He wanted to race home and hide while the quiet panic that had been building since the treaty had been announced bubbled over and was released. 

“And Ulric,” Cor stopped him before he could even reach for the office door; “remember what I told you when we first met?”

“Of course, sir.” Nyx offered a grin in response. “You told me to stand my ground against the jumped up little shits like Luche.”

“You’re going to need it if you’re attending court in Noctis’ arm.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”


	5. "Take what you need."

“Of course,” Ignis said as he wiped up after the meal, dishes clinking against each other as he set them aside; “Take what you need.”

Autumn from the prince’s apartments reminded Nyx of home. There was a greenery to the city— large parks and large swathes of colour cutting across the avenues and plazas. He could see the promise of autumn from Noctis’ balcony, the harsh lights of the city dimmed in the early evening haze as the sun dipped below the western skyline. The Citadel still shimmered within easy sight of the apartment, the beacon of the Wall pulsing on time with every heartbeat connected to the King. 

Nyx loved the sight of it— the stretching plazas, the busy streets, and the shifting colours of the season reflected in the slick shine of the Lucian buildings. 

Reaching around Ignis as the man wiped off a tray to carry dessert, Nyx searched through the cupboards to find what he was looking for. 

“Bottom shelf, on the left,” Ignis offered, smiling as he steps out of the way and gathers the small apple tarts still warm from the oven. “Do try not to make a mess of my kitchen.”

“Not your kitchen, Specs!” 

Noctis’ grin was matched by Ignis, until Prompto swatted at his arm to get his attention back to the game filling the living room with blaring colours and lights. The erratic tapping drawing the prince back to the game that had become the post-dinner entertainment while Ignis chuckled to himself. 

“Forgive me, don’t make a mess of Noctis’ kitchen.”

“I’ll try not to,” Nyx moved into the spot Ignis vacated, tray balanced only as far as the coffee table where it was set down within easy reach. While the kettle gurgled from it’s little hot plate, Nyx tapped the teabag scrounged from the neat little box in the cupboard Ignis kept moving between each visit to the quiet apartment. “Tea, little star?”

“I’ll have some!” Prompto waved to him. “Can I be a little star?”

“You’re too bright to be a little star,” Nyx retrieved a second and third mug; “sunshine.”

“So much better.”

“Stop flirting with my boyfriend, you traitor.”

“Not a traitor!” Prompto settled down, wrestling the game controller from Noctis’ hands. “I’m sunshine.”

Nyx smiled as the banter continued around him. As Ignis and Gladio were dragged into the fray to weigh in on the new nickname. As the kettle boiled and the switch snapped off to draw his attention to the water ready to be poured. He knew that this wasn’t the world he had been born into— it still felt unnatural to look out a window and see a city expanse rather than the thick, leafy greens of Galahd. It wasn’t his world, bickering over games and nicknames and the smell of warm tarts and steaming teas as he brought the mugs out with all the careful balance of a veteran bartender.

There were mornings out here, up in the spacious apartment, where he could slip out to the wide balcony and feel like he was back home. He could step out into the cold, crisp air, the warmth of Noctis’ bed fading in the autumn air as he settled with the familiar tea in his hands. He watched the seasons change from that balcony— long months of varied mornings, where reflections of green far below him shifted to the fiery hues of autumn. Where the Wall felt closer than the ground, and the shimmer of it reflected across the sprawling city reminded him of the ocean views from the cliffs back home. 

There were mornings and sleepless nights he had spent, tea cradled to his chest as he let the warmth seep into him, and he prayed silently for the peace and end to the war that seemed like he would never see. Not for his sake, he would remind himself as his hands would stiffen around the hot china of the mug, but for the sake of the prince he had left sleeping in the other room. Where the war left him helpless, but the prospect of peace left him floundering for an idea of his purpose. 

“My hero,” Prompto breathed a sigh of relief, inhaling the warmth from the tea as he cradled his chosen mug close. The game paused and forgotten in favour of desserts and drinks. 

Noctis rolled his eyes, but offered up a small smile to Nyx. 

This idea of peace was something he could get used to.


	6. “I heard enough, this ends now.”

“I’ve heard enough,” the King’s voice echoed across the meeting room. The arguments that had been building between everyone— the Chancellors and Council members, the advisers and elected officials in attendance, the Niflheim ambassador and his attendants— hushed quickly, as they turned to the monarch who had spent most of the meeting in silent observation. “This ends now.”

There were a lot of people in the Citadel who would have feared the wrath of the King. Nyx knew this. He had seen politicians and the nobility leave with all the dignity they could muster after one of his dressing downs. He had watched the Council members who acted in their own interest, who sacrificed the well being of the kingdom, quietly slink from meetings and conferences— their perceived slights against the King and throne carefully amended before the next meeting of Regis’ court.

Nyx understood the way the King commanded. He understood the impartiality the man tried to present from the throne, and the favour he only revealed in private. He understood the weight that rested on the King’s shoulders to keep the peace within his own advisers and chosen Council, and the kingdom itself. He had watched the King shoulder that burden like Titan, to prevent even a shard of it from piercing Noctis’ private life. 

Nyx understood, because he had felt it pulsing through the magic shared. 

“This will not be a discussion over conference tables and between politicians.”

Noctis sat next to his father, just as much a silent observer to the chaos that had started with a simple announcement. A simple admission. 

It had been a revelation for some of the nobility in attendance. And those who had warning closed ranks around the royals in response. The Niflheim ambassador had remained quiet, until one sticking point had been brought up, time and time again. Like a wound that was waiting to be prodded. 

“Surely, Your Majesty,” the Niflheim man offered up a polite smile— the careful, even tone measured against the room’s quiet hush; “that such matters do warrant discussion? As they affect the kingdom and its future.”

The Lucian Council had always stood united against any interloper in the realm, the ranks closed and every decision made in lockstep with the King as they faced the foreboding push and press of enemy presence at their gates. The Lucians had always appeared as one, in agreement on all matters presented to the rest of Eos. 

And now they had squabbled in front of a foreign official. 

The Council members closed ranks around their King, realising their error in the matter. 

“There will need to be discussion later,” Clarus said— seated at Regis’ left. He leaned forward at the table, hands folded and gaze level as he challenged the Nif in their midst to continue; “but on other matters years down the road. This matter, right now, that has been presented, is not up for debate.”

Gladio shifted at Noctis’ right, not quite as intimidating a figure with his father in the same room. And he stood in position, rather than sat at the Council, Ignis seated by his side and glaring out at the squabbling members that had been quieted. But if one Amicitia was to speak, the second would follow like a shadow. “Prince Noctis has spoken, and made the immediate situation clear.”

Nyx knew that he should have been watching the officials gathered. That he should have been an acting Shield, stood on duty with Gladio. He knew that he was no politician or diplomat— sat at Noctis’ side only because he was involved in this mess. Only because he had been dragged forward just as much as Noctis had. 

But he started to straighten, and the eyes that focused on him— the Council and trained speechmakers, the decision makers of the kingdom, the politicians who had sworn oaths to act in the interest of the Kingdom and its King— made him wish for the front lines and the monstrosities the Nifs unleashed on him in war. 

Regis saved him from that focus with a careful, unnecessary clearing of his throat; “Exactly. There will be matters to discuss later. Matters that will be resolved in due course. All my son has done is state a fact that will be accepted. And celebrated as it should be.”

It was enough of a dismissal for the Council, driven home for the others when the elder Amicitia stood. All at once the room filled with the chairs muffled against the carpet, with hasty wishes for a good afternoon and the understanding that the matters presented were not resolved. The Niflheim ambassador left last, waited for the Council to open the heavy meeting room doors to let the light of the windowed hallway in. 

The ambassador was a bookish figure at best, a former military officer. Nyx knew the type. He had seen the set of jaw before, the posture, the ease of the position, the familiarity with being obeyed. And he was on guard as the man smiled to Regis, to Noctis still seated and quiet. “I believe I should extend a congratulations, your highness. I’m sure your kingdom will rejoice in the announcement of love.”

Noctis offered a tight, polite nod, as two Shields, a Glaive, and the King stared down the man until he scurried from the room with the rest. Until they were left in peace, with Ignis being the first to move from his position where the rest of the aides had spent the meeting.

Once alone with those he trusted, Noctis breathed a sigh of relief, and slumped in the chair he had occupied and refused to move from throughout the disaster of his announcement; “Is it over now?”

Nyx took Noctis’ hand, having resisted the urge to comfort the entire disaster of a meeting. He had wanted to smile and offer his support as Noctis had spoken the few words that had cracked the Lucian image of a unified front. He had wanted to interject, to take Noctis away from the fallout of the Council reactions. He muttered a soft, “Don’t think so, little star.”

Regis smiled, the facade of King dropped in the more trusted presence. He offered a simple pat to Noctis’ shoulder, “I suppose you’ve just made things interesting now that the treaty is done with.”

“I’m more worried about that Nif,” Clarus grumbled, standing from his seat. “He’ll pass the news on before we even leave this room.”

“Of course,” Regis nodded his understanding, “that’s why I’ve already had a statement prepared. Ignis?”

Ignis offered up his tablet, the news already breaking across the kingdom. The news released to the airwaves and news stations as the Council locked itself away earlier that day. “As you requested, Your Majesty. Though may I add that I’m not fond of the gossip already starting?”

“Duly noted,” Regis smiled as he scrolled through the comprehensive list of announcements. Noctis moved closer to read over his father’s arm, the tablet tilted to display the announcement that had gripped the Crown City already. “Though I do agree with some of them, Noctis does not have the complexion for a summer wedding. Perhaps next autumn?”


	7. "No worries, we still have time."

“No worries,” the sun had already started to dip beneath the city skyline, the bright, gleaming lights rising in response outside of the apartment; “we still have time.”

Noctis was only now just sorting out the mess of his hair— the careful movement and smoothing of gel through his signature style, bangs carefully hiding his eyes— though he had at least dressed. Mostly. The suit was incomplete, jacket draped across the back of a dining chair as he glanced out the open bathroom door at Nyx pacing the living room. His tie was nowhere to be seen, his cufflinks still in their box on the table. 

Nyx, for his part, was dressed and ready in his formal uniform. In the dress uniform that had only seen a handful of uses through the years— so rarely used that he had kept it at the Kingsglaive offices, tucked away in storage when he thought he would be moving from his little apartment one year. He paced the dining room, fiddled with the little box of cufflinks, and worried. He was good at worrying, if he really wanted to be. 

“Scientia said that it started at six.”

“And it’s just past six-thirty, hero. We’re fine.”

“Noct—”

“Is this a military thing?” Noctis teased, satisfied with his hair and stepping out to collect the rest of his outfit; “Or is it a Nyx thing? Because it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“It’s a ‘not get accused of corrupting the Crown Prince’ thing,” Nyx reached out to straighten the jacket on Noctis’ shoulders, offering a kiss more to reassure himself that Noctis knew what he was doing; “I want to avoid that.”

“We’ll be fashionably late, hero.”

“An hour isn’t fashionable.” 

“Nyx,” Noctis smiled, reaching up to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in the dress uniform jacket; “relax. You’ve been to these things before.”

“As a guard, little star. Not a guest.”

There was a quick kiss, a little promise of reassurance, and Noctis was dragging him off out the door— tie and cufflinks forgotten on the table. 

Nyx knew from experience that the cocktail party would last as long as it needed to— the meet and greet that had been scheduled for an hour would stretch out as long as they needed until the Prince arrived. The dinner, the speeches, the actual party would begin only when they arrived. Once they were announced. 

Once they stepped through the large, gilded, heavy doors and faced the rest of the Lucian kingdom properly. Noctis smiled to him, even as Ignis huffed and scolded them for being late. 

Nyx had faced the worst that war could throw at him. He had seen the destruction that had been done to the kingdom he had adopted when his own home fell. Facing Eos, on the arm of the Lucian Crown Prince, for the last night that the Wall would stand, had him wishing for the behemoths again.


	8. "I know you do."

“I know you do.”

“Well, it’s true,” Nyx grinned as moved, as he rounded on Noctis in the training yards. As he watched the Prince dance back out of range with a few wide steps, a warp, a careful dodge as the sparks of borrowed magic showered around him. “So you should just give up now.”

It was practically an escape now, being out on the training fields, scrambling around the familiar obstacles cobbled together out of ruins and pillars dragged from Six knows where. It was an escape from the media racing to cover their story— the ‘budding romance’ as they called it, flower metaphors suiting neither of them as they wrestled with the public interest in the kingdom’s future now that war was no longer on their doorstep. The familiar strain, the power coursing through them— burning through them— pushed aside all of the uncertainty ahead of them. 

The Glaives had all been offered their own vision of the future once the ceremonies were over. Drautos left for Cavaugh without so much as a goodbye to his former unit— disappearing quietly one day with Cor Leonis making the announcement the next day. Glaives followed that example in droves, scattering to the wayward winds as they sacrificed their borrowed powers to seek out homes that may have survived the Imperial onslaught through the years. Crowe stayed on, and Libertus said he’d hang around. 

Nyx was at a loss in the end. There was a story building around him in Lucis, one that he didn’t know how to argue against. There was an expectation that he would stay, as he was, serving the throne, loving the Prince. And still he thought back to his home in Galahd. 

There was no room for nostalgia in the training grounds. For uncertainty or doubt. 

Not while Noctis smiled that ruthless little grin and chased him down in a shower of crystalline magic. 

“I love you.”

The first time it had been uttered between them, Nyx had been getting sent out to a failing defence line. They had spent long hours together before then, talking, teasing, and months of fabricated peace with the distant threat looming over them. 

It had been muttered as Noctis watched the Wall come down with him, clinging to his arm as the centuries’ of protection cleared from the sky above. As the city watched the horizons to try to pick up any hint of Niflheim betrayal. As Nyx felt his stomach roll and his breath seize as years of knowing what the Wall cost weighed against his fear of losing it. 

And now, they used it to try to distract each other in a game. As Nyx caught Noctis in the air as he broke back into reality after his warp, the ethereal shade just fading where the Prince had started his attack. Now it was muttered against a shocked noise at being caught, Nyx grinning his victory as they crashed into the dust together. 

“I love you.”

They had years stretched ahead of them now. Not weeks or months where they pretended to be normal, hiding in the calm haven of Nyx’s apartment. No shadows but the throne looming over them. 

“Come with me to Galahd,” Nyx said, arms still around Noctis as they lay together to catch their breath; “before I get that new title. Come see Galahd.”

“Nyx…”

“Please, little star.”

Noctis pushed himself up first. He regained his feet first, patting dust away from his clothes and magic still clinging to him. “For how long?”

“A week? Three? However long we can manage?”

The world was open to them now. The Wall that had held them in place was recalled by the King’s power. 

Noctis nodded his answer, “Fine. Let’s go to Galahd.”


	9. "You Shouldn't Have Come Here"

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Nyx muttered into Noctis’ hair. He had insisted that he deal with the ceremony alone, with the strangeness of the new position alone, but he still pulled Noctis close the moment he saw him in the office doorway. He still smiled and folded his arms around the prince, ignoring the way it would ruin his new uniform. “I told you not to.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do, hero.”

They had been planning for days already— how to phrase the request for a nice trip out beyond Lucis borders. Out to Galahd now that the Empire had withdrawn. They had been planning and talking and trying to orchestrate the getaway from the bustling city life that had adapted just fine to the Wall disappearing from the sky. 

So much so that they had forgotten other matters closer to home. 

Nyx was the most senior Glaive staying in the city right now. He was the most experienced in welcoming in the new recruits, and designing regiments for training. He had experienced every guard post and active post, he knew the Glaives’ systems and protocols inside and out. He had the most respect and recognition among the Glaives who opted to remain, and he had the humility to not want the position.

It had been foolish to think that Cor would handle the role forever. 

“Don’t I? I think that’s a perk now.”

“Captains don’t get to give orders to princes.”

“I don’t think that’s right. I’ll check the handbook later.”

The wolfish grin hid his nervousness as the throne room filled. He had the quiet appointment earlier, the acknowledgement and Cor sitting him down with a stern lesson on his new duties. He had received the uniform before, stiff and new, and entirely too obviously decorated for his tastes, back in his new office with Clarus explaining the ceremonial parts to him. 

This— the long walk to the King to accept the role, already accepted behind closed doors— was just for show now. It was all flash and Lucian celebration. And Noctis grinned as he straightened the decorations he had displaced before darting through a side door to race around the whole mess of the gallery— stuffed with media and noted civilians— to join his father’s side. Exactly in the position Nyx had told him to not be there for. 

But seeing Noctis up there, next to the throne and framed in golds and silvers, made it easier for Nyx to take the long walk to his mark. It was easier to focus on the Prince, grinning at him among the more serious facades of the royal household, than it was to count the steps like he had planned.


	10. "You Think This Troubles Me?"

“You think this troubles me?”

“That was a terrible line and you should drop it.”

“I don’t think I’m allowed to, actually.”

“His Majesty definitely never said that. He would have incinerated the speech first.”

Noctis elbowed Nyx as he shifted on the couch, ignoring the muffled swearing it earned him; “Look, I don’t get to pick these things. It’s some dumb tradition dating back to some stupid ancestor who thought he was a poet.”

“That would be the Loquacious,” Ignis offered from the kitchen, his own copy of the speech left out for study. As if he hadn’t already memorised the thing before the announcements had even been made. Before the speculations and confirmations were even floating through the Citadel halls. “And the Captain is correct, Noct. His Majesty elected to not have any speeches when he accepted the Ring.”

“Am I allowed to do that?”

“Did you just call me Captain?”

The speech was apparently a tradition— a poem recited by the Crown Prince when the Ring of the Lucii was first tested in public to confirm the future king’s worth. It was a meditation on the nature of the Ring, the power it contained, the guidance of the royal line it commanded. And Noctis had detested it the minute Ignis presented it to him a week ago, when the suggestion that the act of passing on the Ring between living Lucis Caelums was a promise of peace in the kingdom. The original writings was stored in the Halls of History, behind glass with worm-dotted parchment spread out beneath the author’s solemn portrait— all six pages ruminating on the value of the kingdom and the guidance of the Astrals. The piece of history the 68th King left in his wake— cursed or beloved by his descendants, and studied in brief snippets in every Lucian school. 

“It’s a call for clarity and prayer for guidance, Noct,” Ignis set the coffees he had been making down, ignoring Nyx as the Glaive stole the speech from Noctis’ hands. “But there is a precedent of it not being recited, if that’s what you prefer.”

“I’m doing that. No recitation. No speeched. Just Ring, then back to dad, and I’m off for games.”

“Just remember, little star,” Nyx moved so that they were both sitting on the sofa rather than splayed across the cushions, the pages abandoned to the side table; “if the rumours are true, you might need to listen to that King’s whining that you didn’t read his pretty poem.”


	11. "But I Will Never Forget!"

“But I will never forget!” Nyx insisted, grinning in response to Noctis’ wry look of disbelief. “I won’t! You know I won’t!”

“You already forgot it, didn’t you?”

“Just a little,” Nyx caught Noctis’ hands and stepped ahead enough to stop them both on the paved park trail. The brittle grass still frozen in the morning frosts, brown and curled under the shifting weight of the seasons. “But In my defence, I also made it better by forgetting the boring bits.”

Around them, the autumn was in full display. People gathered around the changing, vibrant leaves in admiration, and the cold winds whipped their way through avenues and the chrome and steel canyons of the city. The air was crisp and clear after the recent onslaught on rains, but the leaves and their colours clung to the trees despite the wet battering of the week before. Around them, the morning frost was still clinging to the delicate curls of browning grass and stubborn leaves, the sky a deceptive sunny blue; little warmth coming from the cheerful sun brightening the vivid colours of the park. 

“Iggy is going to kill you.” 

“No he won’t.”

Noctis rolled his eyes and continued walking, tugging Nyx along with him. “He will. It’s a family recipe.”

He knew the retort that was coming before it ever left Nyx’s mouth; he knew that soft, sly curl of lips. He knew what was coming with that sharp, too fast wit. He knew what trouble would have brewed if Ignis was around to act insulted. 

“Is that why it was so boring?”

“He’s definitely going to kill you.”

Nyx hummed his acknowledgement of the statement, breathing in deep as the wind picked up around them. As the leaves that had already fallen were picked up again and twisted around in dancing little whirlwinds. They had no real destination in mind, except through the familiar park and towards the warmth of the shops and cafes sequestered of one of the more quiet avenues. 

When they left the apartment that morning, it had been with the desire to avoid the Citadel and the reminders of the upcoming ceremonies. It had been to duck out into the busy streets to avoid the reminders and updates and news stories of Noctis assuming the Ring of the Lucii. Of the ceremony that would acknowledge that the King was almost ready to step down in a new time of peace. 

When they left the apartment, it was to run away from the looming responsibility.

Prince and Glaive became Noctis and Nyx, strolling through the colourful park, admiring the splashes of vibrant golds and fiery reds, arguing over the tiny variations Nyx had proposed to the recipe Ignis had left on the counter overnight.


	12. "Who Could Do This?"

“Who could do this…”

Nyx had spent the better part of the afternoon in his new office repeating that phrase over half a dozen new tasks that had crossed his desk. Over the schedules and listings of remaining Glaives— numbers depleted in the peace as people went home or retired to civilian life on the royal treasury. Nyx had been left to pace his office, contemplating a growing list of responsibilities and tasks, with a dwindling list of names. There were illusions of control that came with any sort of new authority. There were elements and tasks that were better off being delegated to someone else— to someone who was more experienced or knowledgeable. 

Or in Nyx’s case, in the general vicinity and who would probably not kill him for the sudden added work he was about to have heaped onto his shoulders. 

“Libertus!”

“No.”

“You’re not allowed to refuse. It’s work related.”

“It’s still a no, hero.”

“Oh, come on. I’m your boss now.”

“Fine,” Libertus was still in uniform, only his coat shrugged off and draped over one arm to give any indication that he was about to clock out for the day. “But make it quick.”

Nyx clapped his hands together, offering the same sort of smile he once used when all the really heavy lifting needed to be done at the bar back home. When he was about to list all of the reasons why he was the brains of their operation rather than the brawn (which never worked, and tended to end in him getting dragged out to help anyway). “The new recruits—”

“No.”

“You already said yes. They start tomorrow and I need you to break them in. I’m working on the training.”

“And what are you going to be doing while I do your job?”

“I told you, working on the training.”

There had been changes to his the Glaives worked. Rather than a separate force— elite warriors dedicated to knowledge and mastery of royal magic— they were joined intrinsically with the Crownsguard. The magic was set aside for now, until there was a more solid understanding of the royal plans for the future; until there was a confirmation that Noctis would be sharing his gifts, rather than Regis loaning out his own powers. And with the changes, came new training. 

They were no longer worried about being thrown into the front lines, half-trained and ill equipped for the strain of the royal power channelling through them. They were no longer going to be separated based on practical skills— Crowe and her powerhouses of elemental magic no longer expected to risk everything until they burn out with the strain. 

Now, like the Guard, all newcomers were given the practical training first. 

The magic would come later, if it came at all. 

“And does this training include the prince?”

“A little.”

“Nyx—”

“He’s going to show off what he can do! That’s it. Pop in, warp around, be a brat… Noctis stuff.”

Libertus tucked his coat away in the locker, shoulders slumped in defeat against Nyx’s persistence. “He know you call him a brat?”

“Probably. I need you in at five.”

“Five!?”

“Libs—”

“Fuck you, hero.”

“That’s a yes?” Nyx offered a smile, still unmoved from the locker room threshhold. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“A lot of drinks.”

“A lot of drinks.”

“Yes, captain.”


	13. "Try Harder, Next Time."

“Try harder,” Gladio said— greatsword balanced across his shoulders as he watched the new Glaives scramble back to their feet; “next time.”

In the summer, the training yards were like an oven despite the open air. The sun would reflect around the polished stone and glass of the building, and the heat would be funnelled down into the dry dusts of the yards. It was nothing like the green expanses afforded the Crownsguard academy, or the air conditioned rooms within the Citadel. In the summer, at it’s peak, the Glaives were given a taste of the hellfires of the front lines— where daemons and beasts and Nif enemies once scorched the earth that spanned the borders of the fortified Insomnia. 

In autumn, the cold winds carried across the city to scatter amber and crimson leaves in with the dust. 

Libertus barked orders for the next round to take on the Crown Prince’s personal guard, and Gladio swept leaves aside with a casual movement of his boot as he returned to his starting position. Half an eye forever trained on Noctis lounging out of harm’s way in the shade. 

“A ceiling?” Noctis asked, looking up to the open, overcast sky rather than watching the training bout with the new recruits. “Like, closed off?”

“Something like that?” Nyx offered a shrug, “I’m asking your butler for some help with the idea. I figure something like reinforced glass. Keep the look of an open yard.”

“Never call Iggy a butler to his face,” Noctis nudged Nyx in admonishment, smirk curling his lips. “He’ll murder you, and they’ll never find the body.”

“I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

“I might, it’s your own fault.”

“What about chamberlain?”

“No.”

“What is he, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Noctis turned his attention back to where Gladio was defending himself against the quick-footed new Glaives— just barely fast enough to evade the slow, heavy swings of his sword, but not enough to miss the occasional punch or push or kick when they got too close. “He’s just Iggy.”

Nyx chuckled and leaned forward where he sat on the shaded steps, elbows resting on his knees as he watched his recruits try and fail to break the guard of the strongest soldier in the kingdom. “Should I be jealous?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. I asked Crowe.”

“Well, she would know.” In autumn, the winds curled around the pillars in the open yard, and twisted through the obstacles suited for the training the Glaives used to do. The Wall used to shimmer overhead with each new gust that heralded a second wind for the warriors training with limited resources and knowledge of the power they had access to. Nyx remembered the way those breezes felt and refreshed as he warped to the highest point he could. “So what do you think? Something to just keep the sun off in summer.”

“I like it.”

“Good,” Nyx smiled as Noctis shuffled closer, hand moving to catch his. “I think I’ll be stationing these ones close to home. Send the veterans on those new patrols around the kingdom with the hunters.”

Before Noctis could respond, Gladio tossed the last recruit standing back to the dust and rounded on them both. “You lovebirds going to join in? I thought his highness was supposed to be getting a workout too.”

“We’re talking business, Gladio.” Noctis huffed, refusing to release Nyx’s hand or move from the stone steps. 

“Bullshit,” Gladio dismissed his sword in a shower of crystalline shimmer; “get your royal ass down here or I double your schedule for the next week.”

The recruits gathered, hushed to watch the Shield and Crown Prince bicker while Libertus sighed over the interruption. Noctis pulled himself up to his feet and saunters down to join Gladio with a resigned sort of confidence. Nyx sat back to watch, knowing that every recruit that had ever crossed the training yards had underestimated the Prince after facing the Shield.


	14. "Some People Call this Wisdom"

“Some people,” Nyx was already in the thick of it— the mess spreading from the epicentre of himself, to the disaster zone of the apartment; “call this wisdom.”

“No one calls it that, hero.”

They had discussed it before, this leap of faith. Nyx had enough trouble travelling from one side of the city to the other— from train and bus, and district detours to the city centre where the heart of the Kingsglaive functioned. When he wasn’t in charge of rebuilding the scrappy little force of soldiers, he hadn’t minded the long commute. But the district that had been claimed by Galahdian refugees was slowly changing in the face of peace— students from the islands were flooding into the city, rebuilding the community on their own terms; taking the still breathing memory of their home with them, rather than building it on the skeletal grief of war. 

And Nyx’s apartment was perfect for a 20-something student who would only be in Lucis for a few years. 

The scholarship scheme had been Noctis’ idea— cooked up with Ignis after Prompto’s lamenting the school fees. The open doors and head starts had been a product of the tentative peace the world was still wary over.

But it had taken off like wildfire. 

As the veterans left the city for their home, the students came. The students tested into programmes in Lucian schools, and received funding for their formerly bleak prospects. Niflheim followed suit in their own way— their former territories and provinces given the promise of a free education to take back to their homes until the last traces of the war could be wiped from living memory. 

Nyx took the opportunity where he could, and the small spare room that Ignis had been pressing Noctis to use as an office was perfect for his own little memorials. 

There were bookshelves already emptied for him when he finally managed to get the books lugged up to the apartment. The sturdy desk he was certain had been built into the apartment was claimed by his memorial to the Galahd he once knew, the colourful funerary bundle that had always been pinned like an offering on an altar had been moved to the simple frame where his sister’s picture rested now, in a place of honour by the window. The view of the city something he would have once sworn Selena would have only dreamed of. 

Before he could think too much on that idea— on how his baby sister should have been the one taking over his apartment so she could take those art courses she had always dreamed about— Nyx set about organising his little library. He had emptied the boxes in the little study, and spread the books across every surface available as he worked out a system. 

Most of the books came from Galahd, others were gifts sent by his mother or picked up by his friends. Others were scrounged from the depths of thrift shops and community centre fundraisers, where titles in his mother tongue tickled his fancy. 

He hadn’t realised how many books he owned until he had to move.

“I’m just going to set them out by author,” Nyx said, having sat himself down amid the chaos, holding out books to Noctis to shelve for him. “Or maybe title.”

“Nyx, I don’t think it matters.”

“That’s because you still read comics, you dork.”

“I can always take back my offer to help.”

“I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Better.”

In the little apartment buried deep in the district the Galahdians had claimed, he had run out of shelves for his books. Most had been stacked together on his makeshift nightstand, on the floor, or piled together out of the way as he focused on attempting to eke out a life in the foreign city. 

Now he had a new apartment, and Noctis followed his orders (more or less) on where to put which book on the slowly filling shelves.


	15. "I Thought You Had Forgotten"

“I thought you had forgotten,” Noctis said as he peeked across the counter. 

Outside, the autumns storms howled through the city. From their vantage point, when the sheets of grey rain eased for a moment, they could see the distant sun gleaming off of the buildings of more quiet districts. But here, for the bulk of the day, it seemed like Ramuh himself was paying a visit to the Lucian Crown City. Beyond the covered balcony, the immediate neighbourhood was hushed beneath the deluge, caught somewhere between the urgency of the season and the laze brought on by the weather. 

To his merit, Nyx grinned at Noctis from his place by the stove, carefully rolling the last crisp herbs of the season on his cutting board. The green, bright, fresh smell of the bundle as it was served as the last clinging reminder of summer sun. 

“I never forget things, little star.”

“You forget stuff all the time. Like Prompto’s birthday.”

“Okay, then I never forget things that have to do with food.”

There was basil and fennel and a pinch of rosemary, all gathered together in a bowl on the counter. On the stove, the sauce started to bubble and burble and demand the careful attentions of Nyx’s wooden spoon. He added the mix of herbs first, despite having railed against the mixture weeks ago. The aromatics filled the apartment with one careful, confident scrape of spoon against china, and Nyx stirred the sauce until it was appeased down to a quiet simmer. 

“Sure you don’t.” Noctis settled at the counter properly, a stool Nyx had collected from somewhere or another finally serving its intended use here. Outside, thunder rolled against the sky. “But that’s Iggy’s recipe. You said you hated it.”

“I do hate it.” A lower setting was selected, as Nyx resisted the urge to add a bit more of a creative flair to the whole thing— a bit of citrus, or a proper spice to bite back. “It’s lazy, and boring, and so very Lucian.”

“But?”

“But you like it,” a bright grin was offered up in response to the exasperated look the comment earned him, and Nyx set a second pot for the pasta— plaine, half-shell pasta. “And it seems like a good day for it.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“I know.”

A warm (even if a little bland) pasta served for the day’s comfort food as they curled together on the couch with their bowls and a bad movie. As they abandoned both to watch the grey skies and cold rains batter the city, with the shine of distant building untouched by the weather on the horizon.


	16. "This is Gonna Be So Much Fun!"

In the last few days of winds and storms, most of the autumn colours had vanished in favour of the skeletal browns and blacks of the bare trees. Outside of the city, the Leiden desert was in a seasonal bloom from the rains— the greens of hopeful, late-season blooms clinging to the scrub while the deep greens of the few Tenebreaen oaks still offered a resilient shade to the wandering beasts. The slow spread and growth of green grasses peeked through the sandy, dusty browns as roots took hold in the harsh terrain. 

But the late season growths were nothing compared to the flourishing Duscaen forests. 

“This is gonna be so much fun!”

Prompto had called shotgun before they even left the apartment. As soon as the surprise was sprung and Nyx had dragged Noctis out of bed as they had planned. 

“You don’t mind that it’s a bit early?”

The Regalia was on loan from the King for this trip out beyond the city. Out to where they could watch the lush greens of the wetlands and forests be speckled wit the autumn colours that had slipped in. 

“Of course not!” Prompto was grinning from his seat, as Ignis navigated the roads. The signs pointed out stops and landmarks, the meteor rising above the kingdom itself in the distant Disc. Even as they travelled through the ruins of checkpoints and signs of occupation, the peace had firmly settled over the kingdom. “Dude, my birthday can come whenever if it means we go out to play with chocobos!”

When they left the city, they watched the sun rise from Hammerhead, coffee and snacks shared between them in the little diner. They had watched the red and golden desert stone glisten in the morning haze as it dissipated quickly in the rising heat. They watched the steady flow of traffic in and out of the Crown City’s long, welcoming road, and followed Iggy’s orders when he decided it was safer to beat the traffic into Duscae. 

By noon, they had taken another rest overlooking the Slough. 

Noctis had never really seen the stretch of fertile land that was his kingdom before. Not up close. Not to the point where he could see the garula herds wandering free after generations of their farms and ranches falling to waste in the war. Not where he could see the old, ruined building standing as testament to those people who had tried time and time again to make the little farms work out in the wet, hilly Slough. Or the shadows of the great lumbering beasts wading through the waters and swamp. 

They wanted to celebrate Prompto’s birthday together. A little bit earlier than expected, but it was the only handful of days they could all manage together. 

Ignis had planned it all out for them. 

“I see it! I see it!”

Noctis leaned forward in his seat as Prompto practically bounced in his own. Gladio marked the page he was on in the book he had brought, and set it aside as Ignis pulled off of the paved roads and into the gravel drive that spread out for the visitors of the ranch. 

“Noct! Stop texting your boyfriend and come look at the chocobos!” Prompto was out the door, boots kicking up gravel as he rushed to the first calm bird he saw. Chicks, excited by the new energy follwed with their little trills and chirps. 

Noctis tucked his phone away and followed, trusting Ignis and Gladio to sort out the details of the stay. 

Nyx was on cake duty back home. They would have dinner and cake when they got in late in the afternoon the next day. But for now, an overnight at the Chocobo ranch, some races, some tours of the woods, was a perfect distraction.


	17. “I’ll tell you but you’re not gonna like it.”

“I’ll tell you, but you’re not gonna like it.”

That was never the sort of response Nyx wanted to see when he was texting with Noctis. When he was already on edge about Noctis leaving the safety of the fortified city, despite the perpetual guard that went with him. It was not the sort of phrase that made him relax and calmed and focused on the spice cake he was finishing off for the returning party. 

He had debated calling Noctis at all. He had debated checking in like clockwork— like habit demanded— to make sure that the excursion beyond Insomnia was not some elaborate Niflheim ploy that had been in the works all along. 

But then two little words flashed up on his screen as he lounged in the apartment— still getting used to the luxurious space he had moved into. 

—Call Me— 

His stomach had dropped. He thought of Noctis, out in the wetlands, caught in a storm with only his friends fending off Imperial dropships. Of them scattering to the woods that lined the Slough, where beasts and daemons lurked when the sun went down, distracted by the blazing red of the Nif engines to spot a daemon clawing its way up from whatever void they existed in. 

Nyx had all but scrambled for the phone. 

They wanted his opinion on Chocobo names. 

The spice cake had been Ignis’ idea— a comment in passing from Prompto expressing an interest in fall flavours. Nyx had it done up like a loaf; loaves with the amount of batter he had whipped up. One was a muted, dulled Lucian thing, all flash and colour from the flavours. He had tried to marble it the way Ignis had wanted him to, and the flash of orange and red did outshine his own lump of brown loaf. His own Galahdian cake wasn’t as fluffy or light, but it filled the apartment with a warmth familiar to his childhood memories of cold afternoons and his mother bustling through the house. 

Once the icing was on, it would all be down to taste anyway. 

After Noct had laughed at him for worrying, after he was reassured that they weren’t about to die and he could go ahead to check the cakes, Nyx wrestled the reason for the call from his idiot, adorable Prince. 

“What do you think of the name Aerith? It’s a purple one.”

“Wait, Noct, little star, kitten,” Nyx balanced the phone on his shoulder before just selecting the speaker option and setting the device on the counter; “you’re not adopting a chocobo, are you?”

“Well…”

“Noct.”

“I’ll tell you, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Noctis, no. Where’s Iggy?” Nyx sighed, digging out the clean mixing bowls for the icing while the cakes cooled; “Put Ignis on.”

“Specs is picking out harnesses.”

“How the hell did you convince him to go along with this?”

“I asked really nicely.” There was a faint chorus of ‘kweh’ around Noctis and Nyx couldn’t help but smile at the idea that even Ignis had relented to the sudden desire bird ownership. “Anyway, names. What do you think?”

“You can do better.”

“Like?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You like naming things. You keep calling me weird things.”

“Those are nicknames, and they’re cute, thank you.” Nyx worked with the Galahdian recipe first, knowing it better than anything that could come out of Ignis’ quick scrawl of ingredients and shorthand of measurements. “What colour is yours?”

“White.”

“Call it knight.”

“Knight? That’s terrible.”

“It’s either that, or Sir Feathers.”

“I hate you. How are the cakes?”

“Almost done, come home soon.”


	18. "You Should Have Seen It!"

“You should have seen it!” 

The apartment filled with noise and life as soon as Noctis and his friends stepped through that door. Nyx had prepared to be overwhelmed, to step out to let their festivities continued. He had thought to head out for a drink with Libertus and Crowe, and check in on Noctis later. But the Prince had caught him first. 

Beaming smile, hands around his own, Noctis pulled Nyx into the chaos with him. 

“Noct can’t ride,” Prompto declared as soon as it even appeared as though he had Nyx’s attention. “We had this race—”

“I won four races against you!”

“—We had these races,” Prompto wasted no time in joining them on the sofa where Noctis had firmly reclaimed his attentions. Curled up together, Nyx was trapped by both younger men to be victim to the pictures Prompto had managed to snap along the way; “and the only reason Noct won anything is because I was getting pictures.”

Ignis and Gladio raided the kitchen for drinks and food, the cakes being presented without ceremony or flair to Prompto’s wide eyes. 

From the moment they stepped through the doors, the apartment was alive again. It was a flurry of noise and pictures and teasing. It was a a hurricane of resettling into familiar places and everyone moving in perfect tandem. Nyx could watch that easy comfort all afternoon if he didn’t think it would give him a headache after a day of quiet peace. After the cake, the drinks, the welcomes and excitement, Nyx excused himself with a kiss. He told Noctis to have fun, that he was a text away if needed. Noctis beamed at him before Prompto grabbed his attention back to the latest game that had been gifted. 

The energy was infectious— vibrant and living and building the longer the boys fed into it. But it wasn’t Nyx’s energy. The streets were familiar after the rains in this particular district of the city. The endless flow of traffic pulsing through the roadways like a life-flow was almost a comfort after being in the highrise on his own. He could see the apartment from the street— the light at least, once he counted the floors. He could picture what he would come back to later on after this breath of fresh air. 

Noctis and Prompto would have collapsed when their excitement finally gave out. If it wasn’t too late, Ignis may be tidying up. Or reading the instructions for the game that had been tossed aside in favour of a more tried and true method of trial and error. Gladio may be passed out on the sofa, serving as pillow to someone else. Or with a book in hand and a teasing glare if Nyx dares to wake them. 

He would arrive home to the apartment quiet, but still filled with life. The energy resonating around them.

But for now, he was happy to wander. To let them have their moments while he walked familiar city layers. While he paused deep in the shadows of a colourful district and glanced up at signs and shops and flashing ever-changing advertisements to get his bearings. He turned to take a few blocks in another direction, turning away from the well-trodden route to his old apartment, and sought out the equally familiar routes to Libertus’ well-lived in, well-loved (despite his grumping) home. 

It had been a habit once, on sleepless nights, to simply show up at each other’s doors. But those had been times of haunted dreams and troubled futures. 

“What are you smiling about, hero?” Libertus asked when he opened the door to Nyx’s unwarned arrival. 

“You should have seen it, Libs. They’re like little bundles of chaos.” Nyx offered up a grin in response to his friend’s eye roll and exasperation. “How about we start on those drinks that I owe you?”

“Let me get my jacket.”


	19. “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

“Oh please,” Noctis offered up a smile— a charming, princely, winning smile— that would have been effective if he wasn’t suspended by his sword halfway up the wall; “like this is the worst thing that I’ve done.”

There was an exceptionally short list of people who Noctis’ retinue would betray his confidence for, and Nyx was not actually on that list. The King, of course, would always be obeyed if asking after his son’s disappearance from a formal dinner or event. The elder Amicitia too, who only searched for the wayward Prince when the King could not. And then there was each other— each of the friends who shielded their Prince from the rest of the Citadel when possible would only ever close ranks against they own if there was a much larger betrayal going on. 

But Nyx had special permissions. 

When Noctis disappeared from the party, Nyx followed the subtle direction towards the Citadel gardens he received from Ignis. The stiff, measured, ‘his highness does like to admire the night blossoms this time of year’ which sent Nyx wandering towards the beds and lines of fading summer and autumnal flowers. 

From there, he spotted Gladio, reading in an alcove and offering a subtle nod upward. The unspoken rule that Noctis’ privacy was protected remaining intact between them. The question wasn’t asked, and no answer was given. 

Nyx found Noctis on the second level above the Skywalk— the stretching, seemingly precarious balconies that spanned the towers of the Citadel, once pulsing with the Crystal’s magic as the King spread his Wall thin over the great expanse of the city. Noctis let himself drop to the more solid landing, well beyond any walkway or parapet meant for any actual people to be wandering in the dark without safety harnesses. He sat there, watching the glittering city far below, with his feet over the edge, sword resting at his side. 

Nyx smiled as he joined him; “You okay, little star?”

They would have come here to admire the Wall before— the great feat of magic amplified to protect the King’s peace. The would have watched the wavering shimmer of winds rolling across the barrier, of magic pulsing with every royal heartbeat. 

With the Wall gone, it was still too hard to see the stars for all the city lights. 

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, running away from your own party—”

“It’s not my party.”

“No, it’s not.”

Below them, the Citadel was still bustling with activity. The nobility and ticket holders buzzing with excitement and emboldened by fine Tenebrean wines. They had stood together when the guests arrived, the royal siblings of Tenebrae, the Imperial representative of Niflheim, the First Secretary of Accordo… 

And after hours of overwhelming noise and lights and polite talk, Noctis had disappeared. 

“The Princess was looking for you.”

“I’ll go back soon. I just needed fresh air.”

“Good,” Nyx smiled, leaning forward to rest his arms on his legs, spotting the distant streets and welcoming plaza still washed in the lights of the ball. The celebration; “because she can be scary.”

“Luna? Scary?”

“She actually cornered me to ask after you!”

“It’s Luna.”

“And she’s a lot like you.”

“She’s better at all this stuff than I am.”

“That’s for sure.” There were cars leaving the long roads deeper into the city. Esteemed guests and visitors stealing away into the sleepless night of the aptly named city. “You don’t have to do it, you know.”

“I know… It’s just…”

“Noct—”

“I want to. Dad’s carried the Ring for so long… And this is sort of… I mean, I’m not going to be taking over or anything, just…”

“Stepping up.”

“Yeah.”

Nyx knew the uncertainty of the act ahead. There was ceremony and flourishes, royal guests to spend the next day in celebration of the royal tradition. It wasn’t an abdication. It wasn’t a forfeiture of the throne from one King to the next. It was the solemn acknowledgement of duty by the Crown Prince, and a shift of shared weight of the kingdom. 

Pressing his shoulder to Noctis’, Nyx offered a smile; “You won’t fuck it up, little king. I’ll be right there with you.”

“I’m not ready.”

“That’s why I’m there too. And the guys. And Luna, really. She’ll tell off your ancestors if they scare you.” He kissed Noctis’ temple, a quick, quiet peck. “You’re not doing this alone.”

“And if I fuck up the peace?”

“Good thing you got a great Captain of the Kingsglaive then.”


	20. "I hope you have a speech prepared."

“I hope you have a speech prepared,” Noctis remembered Ravus as a much more welcoming boy. He remembered the young man nearly as tall as his father, an example of royal confidence and diplomacy. He remembered the awe and inadequacy he had felt at first, thinking that Ravus was the sort of prince everyone back home would want him to be. “Your Highness.”

He remembered thinking it would be funny to see Ignis and Ravus interact, even then. 

Noctis smiled as he had been taught— the tight, diplomatic smile that dropped the second he saw Lunafreya elbow her brother’s side; “No, no speeches from me, Ravus. I’m not really good at them.”

“I have a title, Noctis.”

“Then you’re on equal footing, and won’t need to bicker.” Luna interrupted, stepping forward to hug Noctis. “We’re here for you, Noct, if you need us.”

“It’s good to see you, Luna.”

The Citadel was buzzing with the final preparations— the final touches. The cavernous hall of the throne room was still sealed for the final touches in the cleaning and preparation for the ceremony. The media from across Eos gathering in the galleries, with their equipment taking more space than the guests. The city had been featured on every news outlet in Eos— across every territory and province, as tourists followed their own national representatives into the ‘once secretive’ Lucian capital.

And now all that attention was focusing its collective eye on the Crown Prince and King, secluded in the Citadel during the fuss. 

Luna was a breath of fresh air after the weeks Noctis spent hiding from the onslaught of public attention. 

She took his arm like the old friend she was, and smiled as her brother waved them off in dismissal. “Forgive Ravus, he’s overwhelmed by the city.”

“No,” Ravus interjected before they wandered too far. “I’m just confused as to how any Lucian claims sanity with all these lights and buildings.”

“I often ask the same thing,” Ignis stepped up to Ravus, a glass of champagne offered— stolen from one of the many trays making the rounds as the guests gathered. In the distraction, Noctis matched Luna’s grin and slipped away from the watchful eyes of older brothers. 

The day was meant to be solemn, had it happened for any other heir apparent. It was always documented as a historic, somber moment of passing. Regis had declared a new tradition was warranted in the time of peace. He had decided that the day was a celebration, and the kingdom seemed to rally behind him.

The ceremony itself— the passing of the Ring of the Lucii— would still be an act of careful, guarded, royal dignity. It would still be noted by every other country, territory, and province in Eos as a Lucian moment of succession. An international acknowledgement of what had already been declared in the kingdom years ago. A final step in Noctis’ role of Crown Prince. The last memento of his station to be passed on until he took the throne itself. In the past, it would have been all at once, an ascension of the new King. 

Regis had declared that the new world needed new traditions. 

The thought still churned Noctis’ stomach. 

“So,” Luna said, following the aimless wandering path through the less-crowded Citadel halls. Past the endless lines of doors and great arching windows opened to the celebrating city below; “tell me about this soldier of yours. Everyone was talking about it.”

“Nyx? Why were they talking about Nyx?”

The corridor curled upward towards a gallery, one of the overlooks meant for announcements and speeches, or for security to convene when needed; “Noct, really? Of course they’ll talk about him. A soldier who won over the aloof Prince of Lucis? I’m sure there are romance novels already being written about it.”

Below them, the people prepared for the ceremony, held at bay by the heavy gilded doors of the waiting lounges and the subsequent throne rooms. From the vantage point, still surrounded by security, Gladio smiling with a helpless little shrug as he slipped to the balcony with them, stepping back to give them privacy. They could see Ignis distracting Ravus, and the King greeting the guests, and the Glaives on duty. 

Nyx was not technically on duty— there as a guest to support Noctis— but the habits were hard to break. Uniformed for the ceremony and awkward in the face of the crowd, Nyx still stood as if he was on duty. Stiff and formal, Noctis smiled as the wolfish grin emerged as Prompto shuffled closer with his camera cradled close to his chest. 

“And I can see the allure,” Luna teased next to him. 

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t blush,” Luna waved to the captain of the Glaives as he spotted them. To the wolfish grin he offered, hands still clasped at the small of his back. “It’s sweet.”

The moment the King excused himself from the gathering, Noctis knew that there would only be moments before the ceremony.


	21. "Impressive, truly."

“Impressive,” Ravus said, once the ceremony was over and the guests of note had reconvened for a light session before the real celebration was meant to begin. Before they were ushered through the labyrinthine stone halls of the Citadel, the grey autumn sky bleeding to brilliant oranges and reds and purples as the sun set; “truly.”

Noctis hesitated as he debated whether or not to take the compliment at face value. In a few short hours— once the guests had been ferried to the grand hotel and its rooftop reception space— he would need to attend the real celebration as a gracious Lucian host, and suffer the onslaught of congratulations and well wishes. He had hoped to slip away now, to avoid the backhanded words of support from old enemies and rivals, and to just learn what this new weight on his hand was. 

“Thanks.”

Ravus had slipped into step next to him as he tried to make his escape. As he twisted the Ring on his finger and tried to silence the sudden influx of information it forced on him. He could sense the people in the Citadel, the city, the kingdom. He could sense the beats of their hearts, deafening non-noise that a little voice whispered he could silence if he wished to. 

He had been warned of this for years. 

He had sat at his father’s side— on his father’s lap when he was small— and listened to all there was to know about the Ring. About the little shard of the Crystal it carried and the way it amplified everything. The way it channelled his own magic— that inherent, burning, itching power now clawing its way through his veins and begging to be unleashed. 

“I suppose you don’t want to hear any well wishes or congratulations, if you’re so intent on sneaking off.”

“I was just—”

He just had to survive today. The Ring had been worn once already— it’s power already hooked into Noctis’ mind, adapting, changing, growing— and it only needed to be worn when expected. For ceremony and political show, for power and training, despite what the cacophony of silent whispers told him. 

He had been promised that he only needed to wear it today.

“Noctis, if I could be blunt?”

“I don’t think I can stop you there, Ravus.”

“No,” Ravus stepped in front of him. He forced Noctis to look at him, to attend; “you could not. And that is something you need to get used to.”

“What?”

“Whatever that Ring is telling you, your highness, you are to ignore it.”

The whispers coursing through his mind— still fresh and distracting— rebelled against the order. Noctis could see the familial power resonating around Ravus— the crackle of it snapping at the air. He could sense the untapped potential in Ravus, the Tenebraean royal line cousin to his own, the crystal singing out its siren song to the Nox Fleuret. The whispers directed him to the rhythm of Ravus’ heart, pounding its beat before him, and begged him to remind the accosting prince before him just who held the power of the Crystal now. 

“I was under the impression that you were good at ignoring what you are told to do.”

Noctis shook his head, as if to silence the persistent whisper of power bleeding up his arm. “But now you’re telling me to do something.”

“Yes, but with far less authority than some ancient kings, I think. All I suggest is that you prioritise your bratty nature, dear cousin.”

The smile was a distraction from the Ring. The amusement in the mismatched eyes shocked Noctis back to where he was— the whispers dulled in the face of the familiarity of the Citadel. The stone around them, the majesty of the timeless halls, and the two of them standing as they were— uncomfortable wretches with far too much weight on their shoulders. Kingdoms of responsibility looming in their shadows. 

“Are we even cousins?”

“In a manner of speaking. I believe there are shared ancestors somewhere along the line.”

Noctis shrugged his response to that, the firm affirmation of the whispers of the Lucii answering his question before Ravus’ words even formed. “And here I thought you wanted me to be found unworthy.”

“That would have been a far more entertaining spectacle,” Ravus stepped aside to open the corridor to Noctis again, the distant sound of boots echoing in the stone halls drawing them both back to matters at hand— preparing for a party neither wanted to attend. “Do try to remember that you’re stronger than the Ring, your highness. I rather like the world intact.”

In a flourish of white, Ravus started back down the hallways— back towards the formal reception room, where he could rescue Luna from whatever menace he saw in her company of Ignis and Prompto, and the Glaive that had been assigned as her escort for the trip. Noctis watched the stiff lines of Ravus’ back retreat, no acknowledgement given to Nyx as they passed. 

Alone in the hallways, Nyx offered Noctis a grin and a kiss before he fell into step at Noctis’ side. “You need to stop wandering off, little king.”

“It’s the Citadel, what could possibly happen?”

“You could be seduced by a handsome political rival, and then where would I be?”

“If you mean Ravus—”

“I was thinking the princess, but he’s not too bad either.”

“Nyx!”

“He’s not.” Nyx let a hand rest on the small of Noctis’ back as they walked, as their steps echoed through the halls. Noctis could feel the lightness of the touch— see the aura of familiar magic around the Glaive— and the whispers faded to a dull annoyance at the back of his mind; “How are you holding up?”

“Better. Now that you’re here, at least.”

“Better not leave your side then.”


	22. "I know how you love to play games."

“I know how you love to play games.”

The little gift basket was set out like an offering on the dining table. In prominent view from the entryway, as Noctis stepped into his apartment. The grey bow was tied on top— rough and loose and clearly marked there as part of the joke. Stepping back into the apartment after long days spent at the Citadel was like stepping onto dry land after struggling to keep his head above water.

Noctis had to laugh at the sight of the little gift with it’s loose bow.

Ignis’ touch was everywhere in the apartment— from the open windows to allow the fresh air in, to the lingering scent and warmth of fresh foods. The place had been tidied, the grocery list perpetually left on the fridge door added to, with several items visibly crossed off. Nyx had been in the Citadel with him, but the lingering spices— not quite as strong as Nyx’s own cooking— lingered in the air. And now the gift basket sat— left unassuming and alone in its place of prominence— as the only piece that was left out of place. 

“You got me a present?”

“Well, I helped.” Nyx grinned as he he draped his uniform coat across the back of a chair, joined by Noctis’ formal jacket. “But Prompto picked it out.”

There was a game propped upright by a selection of treats— bags of candy and sweets and cans of drinks. Little notes in his friends’ writing wished him congratulations for the ceremony, and promises to hang out again soon, ‘when the fuss died down’. Nyx wrapped his arms around Noctis’ waist as the prince examined the offerings, as the notes were listed and reviewed first, the hard case of the new game a secondary interest to the words scribbled out on scraps. 

“No note from you, hero.”

“No, too impersonal.” Nyx grinned, leaning forward to rest his chin on Noctis’ shoulder. “I prefer to do all my well wishes in person.”

“You didn’t know it was here, did you?”

“I did! I really did. I tied the bow!”

“That’s a Gladio bow.” 

Years of sharing and exchanging gifts with his Shield had taught Noctis the finer points in Gladio’s wrapping skills. Namely that if he didn’t need to tear or cut something to get at the gift, then Gladio was not behind the entire thing— and this bow on the basket handle was more a mass of knots than a simple ribbon.

“It is a Gladio bow, isn’t it?”

Noctis set the game aside, the treats still carefully tucked together in the basket, and he turned in Nyx’s arms. He offered his own grin, now nose-to-nose with Nyx, arms slung over the Glaive’s shoulders. “So what did you get me?”

In the new position, Nyx let his hands move— tugging at the dress shirt until he could touch Noctis’ skin. His hands steadied them both, grounded them both in the moments of privacy they had in their own apartment. “I didn’t get you anything. I was worried the Ring wouldn’t accept you, and I didn’t want to just leave a gift next to your ashes.”

“Try again.”

“Your gift will be delivered next week.”

“Nope.”

“I give up, little king. What did I get you?”

“It’s in the bedroom.”

“So that’s where I put it.”

“I’ll show you where you can put it, hero.”


	23. "This is not new, it only feels like it."

“This is not new,” Noctis muttered, more to himself than to the empty apartment around him. It was a mantra he had learnt when handling the Ring, when handling the Lucian magic he had been born with; “it only feels like it.”

The Ring of the Lucii rested in his palm; the weight of it, the gleam of it’s Crystal shard, burning through the dark apartment as he watched it. The light outside, in the depths of the Lucian night, was ever-changing with the splay of advertisements and reflections on in the mirror-like glass of the high-rises. The shine of lights and people and city life just as sleepless as Noctis was, but life carried in exuberance across the city rather than for fear of it. 

Noctis leaned against the back of the sofa in the darkened, silent living room, watching the distant lights while it felt like the Ring would burn through his hand if he didn’t wear it. His world narrowed down to the soft gleam of Crystal shard reflected in the light from the window— to the dull roar of power calling to him.

The weight of centuries rested in his palm. And he could see them passing in the changing lights outside. 

There were moments when the foundations of the city glowed red in the night— the Solheim outposts devastated and destroyed until the coveted crystal was moved. Long roads cut through fallen empires, and the Crystals carried away, stolen beneath heavy blankets in the back of carriages pulled by great black, royal birds. There were moments flashing across his vision of when the Tenebraean lines split and merged and separated again, families distorted by the passage of time. Of when Bahamut was adopted as the patron Astral of the kingdom, and war became the norm. When fealty to the Astral whose image still adorns royal tombs and plaza memorials was cast aside for something that seemed more powerful than death itself. When his ancestors— kings and queen of renown and not— performed their deeds or shirked their responsibility, the Crystal calling to them through it all, to deem them worthy enough to live. 

He could see it all, passing through his mind like the little voiceless whispers that rebelled against the peace signed into act. The power was old, and vicious. He was the new one here.

“Noctis?”

He jumped at the touch to his shoulder, fist closing around the Ring to protect it first. Wide eyes adjusting to the moment he was shocked back to. 

“Hey, easy,” Nyx offered a smile despite the worry in his eyes as Noctis turned on him, arms up in a show of peace. “You were miles away, there.”

Outside, the sky bled red as the sun rose, the horizon the only sliver of sky not covered by the grey overcast. For a moment, the city glittered in reds and golds in the dawn. Noctis shook his head, in part trying to free himself of the visions the Ring, the Crystal granted, and to dislodged the image of the red glow of ancient buildings. 

Noctis huffed out a sigh of relief, Ring clenched in his palm as he slumped. The restless night catching up to him now that he was aware of it. Now that he could see the sun bleeding across the clouds. “Years.”

“What?”

“Years away.”

Nyx stepped away towards the kitchen, and Noctis followed him. He followed a step at a time, back towards something routine and normal. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s the Ring,” Noctis still clutched it, before he recognised the pain of the metal biting into his palm. As Nyx started the ritual of fresh coffee, Noctis slipped the Ring into the secure little box, he had meant to keep it in. “It… It shows me things, Nyx.”

“What things?”

“A lot of the Kingdom, the history and the kings and—”

“Do you want to see that stuff?”

Noctis hesitated, knowing what Ignis would say. What his dad would say. History was important to learn from. It was roots and knowledge and facts that were meant to ground the just and kind and wise in reality to rule. Knowledge of the past was a way to resist repeating the mistakes of it all. 

But the city was built on foundations of ruin and prophecy and death. And the Ring demanded more. Showed him more. It showed him the power he could claim, the light he could bring to the world if he just acted. And even shut away in the ornate little box, it’s dulled whisper promised him more power than any Lucian king before.

“No.”

“Then your ancestors are dicks, little star.”

“What?”

The kettle was set to boil, the cheap instant coffee carried over from Nyx’s apartment set out with two mugs and a spoon. It was a daily sacrifice— the cheap, easily burnt mess of caffeine couldn’t just be thrown out with the trash, no matter what Ignis grumbled. The bottle of it was nearly finished anyway. And they could move on to something better soon. 

Noctis thought that they should keep a jar of the cheap, horrendous stuff handy in the cupboard. 

If only for Ignis’ pained look every time he spotted it. If only for Nyx’s grin at every indignant huff from his friend, or wearied side-eyed look, or forceful shove the bottle would get to the back of the cupboard.

“You didn’t ask to see that stuff. You shouldn’t have to until you’re ready.” Nyx smiled, elbows braced on the counter while they waited for the water. As he settled into the air of peaceful routine like he was born to it, despite the soldiers’ scars and marks he carried. “You don’t send soldiers half-ready into the front lines.”

“I wouldn’t want to send soldiers at all.” He thought back to the bloodlust in the Ring— the rebellion against the fragile peace that was still being built. The ease with which he could break it, if he just acted. He wondered at how his father had resisted it. How he had spent years diplomatically facing the people who had wanted nothing more than their deaths. “I think I need to talk to dad, today.”


	24. “You knows this, you know this to be true.”

“You know this,” Regis stated, as stiff and stubborn as ever in the presence of his Council. Anyone else would have made a question of the phrase, but Regis was not one to simply ask for advise. He demanded clarity and certainty before he succumbed to action and instinct; “you know this to be true.”

“Your majesty,” one man started, dressed modestly compared to the full members of Council— his suit and tie and the decorations that covered it all worth more than half the year’s salary Noctis knew was paid to the receptionist in the public entrance halls; “the rumours—”

“Is that all they are?”

“Well…”

Noctis had never seen a grown man fidget so much through one word before. He decided to show the mercy the man wouldn’t find as the bearer of bad news— whatever it was— to the King. “And what rumours, exactly?”

The change in Regis was instant. Noctis knew it. The King warred with his dad— the stiffness drained, the crystalline coldness in his eye thawed, and the sternness in his regal features eased with the slump of his shoulders— and Regis the Father always won. “Noctis, you weren’t announced.”

“When have they ever spotted me in time to announce me?”

It was Clarus’ suppressed laugh that made Regis’ lips quirk into a smile. Clarus offered a helpless shrug at his friend’s amusement to the soft noise. “Don’t look at me, your majesty. Leonis handles the guards.”

“It’s why I try to get spotted,” Gladio offered, patting Noctis on the shoulder; “I’ve been petitioning for a royal leash for years.”

Noctis rolled his eyes— a perfect imitation of his father’s gesture— and offered a cheeky little bow of his head. “If his majesty is done terrifying the messengers, can we talk?”

“Yes, yes,” Regis dismissed the royal page with a wave of his hand— the man bolting for the door in as dignified a manner as possible, while Clarus gestured for his own son to help with drinks while the royal father and son sat at the conference table as if it was in a parlour of their Citadel apartments. “Are you alright?”

Noctis started to say that he was. He started to follow in the familiar instinct— to not make his father worry, to not add to the stresses already bearing down on the King. Gladio gave him a pointed look from the door, arms crossed as a member of the staff rushed away with whatever order he had given. 

“No. I’m not.”

“Noctis—”

“It’s the Ring.” Noctis was the only one to ever interrupt the King. Never in public, and never before his Court. He supposed in their younger days, his father’s friends probably did the same here and there— Astrals knew that his own friends interrupted him all the time. “I… It…”

It sounded so pitiful when he tried to voice his concern. When he tried to think of a diplomatic way to say it whispered to him, it gave him visions, it told him things and promised him power he never wanted to touch. All of what he wanted to say seemed like dreams and fairy tales when he tried to form them into words. 

Regis understood.

Regis nodded and reached for his son’s hand; “It’s difficult, Noctis, I know.”

“Ravus said to ignore it.”

“He’s a sensible enough boy.”

“Ravus?”

Regis offered a shrug in the face of Noctis’ disbelief. “His sister’s influence, I’m sure. But he’s honest, and right. You need to learn to ignore it.”

“Ignore it.”

“Yes.”

“Ignore the magical royal ring that amplifies my own inherent magic.”

“When you put it that way,” Regis smirked, patted his son’s hand, and glanced to Clarus who simply rolled his eyes and stepped out to the hallway as a trolley could just be heard coming up through the polished hallways; “it is a bit like a fairy tale. I recall you liking those, though.”

“When I was five. I’d rather not have the voices of dead ancestors in my head.”

“Have you told them that? With the exception of a few, most are quite reasonable.”

Noctis pinched at the bridge of his nose, the restless night’s exhaustion wearing on him in the face of his father’s amusement. “How did you deal with it.”

“I, very politely, told them to stop.”

“You told them to fuck off, Reggie,” Clarus said, a bottle of amber liquid and two stout glasses delivered from door to table while Gladio carried two more; “or you’d chuck the Ring into the sea. I remember that whole thing.”

“Was that really what I said?”

Clarus nodded, pouring the drink, “There was more swearing involved. You made Cor blush.”

“An exaggeration, I’m sure,” Regis smiled as he shifted to let his Shield serve the drinks. As he accepted the offering from his eldest friend. “But your memory is better than mine.”

“Politely, right?” Noctis grinned, the image of his father, younger, volatile, threatening the family heirloom until it behaved to his liking, was something he could picture very vividly. 

“In comparison, I suppose.”

There was a weight lifted at the revelation. At the idea that his father— the paragon of Lucian propriety and paternal values— had silenced the Ring and it’s whispers with far less control than Noctis seemed to feel. Noctis understood what they meant. He understood that the Ring’s power was not theirs. It was not active or sentient. It was powerless without them as vessels. 

Noctis relaxed, smiled to the pair of Shields as they joined them at the table. Friends and family, he could manage. He had resolved long ago not to give up either for the throne. 

“So what were those rumours you were terrifying that guy about?”

“Nothing serious,” Regis said too fast to be believed. “Just little half-baked schemes still haunting the treaty.”

“Such as?”

“Noctis—”

“Dad.”

“In an unrelated note,” Regis smiled, “can Captain Ulric recommend a Glaive to accompany Lunafreya?”

“Someone’s threatening Luna?”

“Not if she had a Glaive at her side.”

“I’ll ask Nyx.”


	25. "Go forward, do not stray."

The phrase had been drilled into him in some form or another since he was a child. It had been his father’s guiding principle, the tenants of royalty King Regis sought to uphold as a virtue. The familiar speech, recited often when he was young, was meant to inspire him to face the uncertainties of the throne; to move forward without hesitation, to act and solve and inspire where he could. 

The phrase may have been drilled into him, but Noctis was very good at ignoring words of wisdom laid out by his father.

“Go forward,” Regis said, with all the gravitas of a formal address, but in the quiet safety of his study; “do not stray.”

Noctis sat to the side this time, watching the Glaive offer an easy bow to the monarch, a salute and grin to Nyx where he stood nearby. “Yes, your majesty. Captain.”

“Crowe,” Nyx offered up his own grin, the seriousness of the mission set aside even in the presence of the King; “Play nice with the princess.”

“Yes, sir.”

Crowe’s pointed look towards Noctis was not missed by anyone in the room. 

Nyx had chosen his friend for when asked. He had the name ready and offered as a formal recommendation before the actual request came across his desk. He had warned her, plied her with drinks and the promise of a new bike, to get her to agree leaving the city behind. The easy reminder of ‘you always wanted to see the world’ hanging between them. 

And while Crowe was told not to stray from her path, from the destination they had chosen for her, there were reports that Lunafreya was already wandering. 

Crowe would need to catch up. 

“Are you sure about this?” Noctis asked the Glaive once the formal meeting was done. Once they had stepped out to the garage and away from prying Citadel eyes, and she could offer her own wolfish grin— perfected by years of Nyx’s influence.

“You worry too much, little prince,” Crowe smiled, ignoring the look the nickname earned her. Libertus waited by the van they had set up to carry Crowe and her new bike as far as the Prairie Outpost, arms cross and fretting already. Around them, the cars reserved for the royal family waited in the dark— some covered, some not, but all gleaming in the artificial light. “Look after Nyx for me.”

When they next heard from her, it was when she had caught up to Luna in Lestallum. The report, as informal as it was, was followed a week later by a note from Ravus— simultaneously thanking the royal generosity, and scolding them for thinking that he didn’t have everything under control. The reports came in every few days— a sentence or two, emailed, texted, recorded late night on Nyx’s personal frequency— to let them know what was happening. Notes from Luna bled into the reports where they could. Whole messages sent from the Tenebrae Princess to the Lucian Prince as they compared ‘their Glaives’. 

They had long nights, of royals stealing the earpieces from the bedside and rushing through protocols. Noctis and Lunafreya comparing their adventures while Nyx presumed that Crowe had the similar task of getting her equipment back. 

Nyx was fairly certain seducing the target meant to be protected counted as ‘straying.’ But he was really in no place to reprimand Crowe. He preferred to watch the late nights watching Noctis chat with Luna over the Glaive equipment. It was easier to focus on Noctis’ smile in the dark of the bedroom as he talked to his old friend, than to think about Crowe’s diplomatic disasters.


	26. “But if you cannot see it, is it really there?”

“But if you cannot see it,” Nyx recited, laughter already bubbling beneath the Captain’s severity in his voice; “is it really there?”

“Nyx, you deal with magic.”

“Yes.”

“You deal with all sorts of magic.”

“Yes.”

“That was a stupid question.”

Nyx did laugh at that, catching Noctis around the waist as they moved towards the training yards. As they escaped the duties that the Citadel had tried to heap across them— patrols and guards and meeting all set aside in favour of this little routine. “Fine, I won’t ask the recruits philosophical questions.”

There was a familiarity to the old routine— to sneaking past the Citadel staff with their reminders of meetings and events that demanded attention. To recruiting Ignis or Gladio to helping them escape, the promise of repaying the favour already regretted when Ignis hands them a list the next day. There was a peace in the cold training grounds, still open to the overcast skies with their early winter chills.

The spread of seasons had again caught up around the city, with the northern chill seeping into the air and stone of the greying city. Insomnia was still vibrant and colourful and awash in neon lights through it’s canyons of buildings and chrome, but the grey skies and cold winds dulled any and all autumn spirit that may have remained. Slate grey of the clouds and the morning frosts clawing across the windows, made the whole city seem colder than it was. The sun rose later and later as the seasons turned and the chill of the threatening winter made its way across Insomnia. 

In the northern districts, there were reports of light snows already. 

But the chill in the training yards just spurred them on. 

It was something normal— familiar and safe— the safe crackle of power around them as they moved, the shatter of crystalline power as they warped from one point to another. Noctis switched between weapons easily, as always, the versatile warrior prince he had been trained to be before the thought of peace broke into their little world. He laughed as he was a fraction faster than Nyx, stealing the curved kukri from where it had been thrown and dashing off to again to leave Nyx scrambling in the cold dust to catch up. 

It was a game between them, without the pressures of station and abandoned duty to weigh them down. As they climbed the towering structure of ruins and stone in the centre of the training yards in little dashes and warps. Teasing taunts and challenges were thrown between them as easily as weapons, and one paused for the other at the slightest slip or struggle to correct as they whipped themselves in their game around the cracking stone. 

Beneath the slate grey sky and cold winds, there was no Ring of the Lucii, or intriguing plot half a world away. There was no fragile peace to be challenged with the wrong word or open distrust. 

Nyx caught Noctis at the top of the tower, and stole his knife back with a kiss. “Mine, little star.”

“Fine, fine,” Noctis let himself be balanced at the precarious tip of the tower, peeking over the edge of the building’s walls and to the fortified roof— the yards still open to the late autumn sky. “Yours, hero.”

“I love you,” Nyx muttered, balanced close as the cold winds descended around them; “even if it’s something you can’t see.”

“I see it, Nyx. You’re pretty obvious.”


	27. "Remember, you have to remember."

“Remember,” Nyx said, an almost desperate edge to his voice— driven by panic and need as he searched for the right tools; “you have to remember.”

The apartment was awash in light— the slate grey clouds of the late autumn had finally lifted to reveal the swaths of bright blue sky above the towering buildings beyond the window. The cityscape below the cuts of blue sky and silver clouds was open and vibrant, chilly northern winds wrapped around the cold steel and glass to give the autumn one last vivid, colourful, bright burst of autumn life. The winds creaked against the apartment’s broad windows, competing with the dull cacophony of noise from Noctis’ latest video game. 

Nyx searched through the cupboards, digging through the packets and bottles and jars of ingredients that were constantly rearranged by Ignis’ meddling hands. Things had been lined up and labels written in precise Lucian script, the manufactured labels and guides removed to make things harder for the poor Galahdian kitchen interloper (Nyx was certain that was the reason). 

“Remember,” it was almost sing-song as he searched, and pulled out bits and pieces of his recipe as he remembered them; “you have to remember.”

He remembered the same little incantation falling from his mother’s lips as she moved through her own kitchen back home. He remembered trailing after her, gathering the ingredients she set aside for the next dish. The next batch of spices and herbs for the dough filling the warm kitchen air, the soft mantra directing his mother’s hands to the correct jars and pots and bottles while the half-song curled around them both to guide them. 

“Does that actually work?”

“Nope!” Noctis rolled his eyes at the response, at Nyx’s answering grin. “Not in the least.”

But he ran his hands over the selection of jars, as if trying to make his selection by touch alone. 

The noise from the television dulled as Noctis paused his game, and turned to properly watch Nyx dig through the cupboards. “You could just write down your recipes. Like Ignis.”

“Like Ignis? Have you seen that notebook of his? It’s impossible to read.”

“But he at least remembers what he’s trying to cook.”

“Bake,” Nyx corrected, grinning in triumph as he pulled a jar of allspice from the cupboard. “And I definitely remember what I need.”

“Do you remember how much you need?”

“Don’t be an ass, little star. Even if you have a really nice one.” Nyx beamed at the prince, shaking the little bottle. Setting the jar down, he starts searching for the next in his list of half-remembered ingredients. “Where does Specs keep the cocoa?”


	28. “I felt it. You know what I mean.”

“I felt it,” Nyx muttered in the dark, Noctis curled close against him, their legs entwined. He smiled at the look it earned him, and lifted his hand to Noctis’ hair. “You know what I mean.”

It was the peace that settled over the city now. The breath that the kingdom let out in relief as the treaty seemed to hold fast around the world. The news filtered in from around Eos— the guarded borders, and checkpoints remained, but the peace held. He heard it in the halls of the Citadel, and in the reports filtered in through the hunters and new international channels. The promises signed and ratified at the beginning of the season seemed to be kept in good faith. 

The city released the collective breath that it had held since the treaty papers appeared on the King’s desk. 

Now, as the kingdom eased itself into the peace, Nyx felt the way it settled. He could relax as the familiar fear that he was awaiting orders, assignment, faded. He could relax as he woke to realise the quiet and calm he felt might be here to stay. With Noctis at his side, tangled into his life. And safe. 

“Sure I do.”

“You do,” Nyx smiled, tracing idle designs along Noctis’ arm. “You know what this is.”

Noctis offered up a little hum and settled closer. Outside the rain was beating down on the city. They could hear the rhythmic pattering against the glass, the winds bearing down on them. In the dark of the night, the sound was relaxing, calming, a reminder of the world outside their little space here in the apartment. 

“No idea what you’re talking about, hero.”

“The peace, little star.”

He felt Noctis move against him, the blankets pulled up higher along them, the chill of the late autumn warded off. “The treaty’s been in force for almost a month.”

Wrapped together in the night, they were warm. For the first time, Nyx felt that they were truly at peace. That they truly had a chance at the peace that was being promised. 

“I know…”

“But?”

“But it actually feels like it now.”

“It does.”

Nyx grinned at nothing in the dark. He watched the city lights, partially obscured by the heavy blinds across the bedroom windows, dance across the ceiling. Across the poster of Galahd Canyon he had secured up there when he was first moving his things into the apartment, while Noctis teased him for the habit. 

“We should celebrate.”

“We should sleep.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Noct—”

The prince moved quickly. Noctis straddled Nyx, blanket pooling around his waist as Nyx steadied him. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“Yes, I do. And I’m asking first.”

“What?”

“I’m asking first,” Nyx could see the grin across Noctis’ face, the gleam in his eyes. “Marry me, hero.”


	29. “At least it can’t get any worse.”

There were no announcements or official statements. There were no promises made in public or over council meetings, or anyone told other than those immediately who were closest to them. Around the city and the Citadel, life carried on as normal. 

Or as normal as it could, with the first snows of the season chasing the wet weather from district to district. 

Life went on, and so did the work load. Noctis gained new duties in the Citadel and in the Council— management of small matters and charities expanding into events and festivities; he had a desk and office, hidden away in the towers with his father. Ignis stayed with him, an endless supply of tea and coffee to keep them alert through the notes and meeting minutes and the mountains of paperwork that needed signatures and acknowledgement. 

“At least it can’t get any worse.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Noctis glared up at Nyx, smiling at the way Nyx rested his hip against the door’s frame; “because it’s going to summon a whole new stack of something.”

“I wouldn’t dream of that, little star.”

Noctis was behind on the actual duties he was meant to assume. He had delayed them, received reasonable, sanctioned excuses. But now that he had the Ring, and the whisper of it clouded his mind, he had found that menial tasks had quieted it. The focus and repetition of requests, of deciding what would make it to his father’s Council, his father’s desk, helped keep the weight of history from crushing him or driving him mad. 

“Please tell me you’re here to rescue me?”

“Always,” Nyx smiled, glancing back out to the hallway; “and if we run now, I can buy you dinner.”

Noctis didn’t need to be asked twice— there was a final signature, a short note scribbled out, and Noctis was out the door with Nyx. The last of the autumn colours were barely clinging to the branches, holding on against the rains and winds that heralded what would be snow in a few short weeks. The last of the festival streamers and lights and mementos of harvests were being taken down before the banners could be destroyed by the weather. 

The leaves that collected along the sides of streets and walkways had started to turn— soggy, lifeless things swept up by the street cleaning crews, and strewn across flower beds for compost in the colder months. Noctis still kicked at them half-heartedly, as if he might find the last crunchy leaf by accident. 

“So,” Nyx said once they were out of the Citadel’s shadow. Once he was leading his Prince along the flow of traffic, stopping with the streetlights’ direction to admire the dying breaths of the season; “I booked the passage to Galahd.”

“What? When?”

“When did I book it? Or when are we going?”

“Both.”

“Today, and at the end of the month; or the beginning of the next month really. For two weeks. At least.”

“We could have—”

“I know you don’t want to show up in my tiny hometown on the royal vessel, right?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“The ferry is only a couple of hours from the harbours here.” Nyx offered up a brighter smile; the resolution of plans clicking into place; “And you need a vacation, little king.”


	30. “Do we really have to do this again?”

Noctis fussed with his tie before he abandoned it outright, draping the strip of silk across the back of a chair while he fussed with his shirt. He settled for an open top button in his shirt, despite Ignis’ clear objections to a formal meeting without the proper attire. The Citadel was buzzing with the rumours that the Prince was going to tour the kingdom— the allied territories— and it needed to be addressed in some manner. 

But first there was another issue to present to the King. 

“Do we really have to do this again?”

“You’re the one,” Ignis said, fussing with Noctis’ jacket before admitting defeat in making his friend appear regal; “who proposed to Nyx. It’s only fair that you actually follow some protocol.”

“But we’re not even planning to get married for a year, or more.”

“You’re the Crown Prince, Noct. Your traditions state that you should have asked the King to allow the proposal first.”

“It’s not like Dad would have said no.”

Outside in the city, the steady march of seasons had pressed on. Skeletal trees lined the plazas and parks, the memorials to long dead kings and heroes decorated by branches and the last of the fallen leaves while the city prepared for snow. Images of Etro were more prominant; her calm, kind face peeking through the creaking, bare branches where her motifs were usually hidden. The statues of the Old Kings, the fabled Old Wall, seemed dormant in the grey shift of weather— the rains doused the guardian statues and their prominent tombs with a sense of loss and foreboding. 

Reminders that winter was trailing along with the chill, wet winds, was everywhere in the grey and black of the Lucian city. 

Noctis had almost wished he thought to run while he could. It would have been nice to drag Nyx out to the coast— Galdin or Caem— to make a proper event of their impulsive proposal. He could have escaped some traditions while he was at it. 

“No,” Ignis agreed, smoothing out the last wrinkles in the hopes that the image of propriety would last; “he wouldn’t. But His Majesty would like to be involved in some way, Noct. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The tradition was simple: the King needed to approve of the heir’s match. Publicly, when possible. But at the very least given the right to weigh in. Ignis had said that it stemmed from the years of betrothals and arrangements made to hold fragile peace together between nations. Matches made through political desires and struggles for control rather than any actual affection. 

King Mors had refused to force his own son’s hand in marriage— much to the relief of those involved— despite his insistence on other matters of image and training. And in turn, King Regis had been more permissive of his own son’s freedoms. 

But the fear still lingered that there was some match made years ago that would come up to haunt them. That the Council would push back against this ultimate declaration of freewill from the Crown Prince, or some fine print from the treaty brought to light by Niflheim. 

Noctis had never been one to actually read the fine print. 

Thankfully Ignis was. 

“You have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing?” Noctis huffed, heading towards the door while Ignis tidied up the mess left in his wake. The unused tie, the rejected shirt and jackets, the cufflinks brought out in indecision while Noctis whined that he should just show up in jeans and a t-shirt. “The Council is going to say that it’s too fast. That we rushed into this.”

“You and Ulric have been together—”

“A couple of years. But they don’t know that, do they?”

“Possibly not.”

“And what about the whole status thing? Dad and Clarus don’t care, but there some—”

“Noct,” Ignis smiled, and started to usher his Prince towards his shoes and the door; “two points on that. One, you don’t care about status, and that will hardly stop you, or Ulric.”

“And two?”

“I do believe that your father will enjoy any scandal this causes. And I suggest choosing a winter wedding date, when you’re ready.”

“Winter? Why?”

“I have quite a bit of money riding on the week of December 5th,” Ignis smiled at Noctis’ glare, and indicated the door to usher the Prince out. “Shall we?”


	31. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

Galahd rose from the sea in indistinct grey lines at first. The white-tipped waves were indistinguishable from the distant, shrouded, white capped mountains. The sea fog that curled closer to the island waters in the early morning covered their approach at first; the first glimpse of rising island mountain peeking through the early winter storms Nyx remembered from his youth. 

He remembered long summers spent in those valleys of the southernmost island, still north of Insomnia and Lucis to feel the real chill of the seasons. He remembered lush green canopies above him and his sister and his friends as they explored the crevices and forbidden caves deep in the canyon beds. There were beasts back then— slithering, pack driven, skulking creatures of nightmares and children stories— that they had tested themselves on, protected themselves from, believing that victory against a starved beast was something they could brag about later in their adventures. They had spent long summer days and short warm nights curled in the boughs of their favourite trees or on the haven plateaus buried deep in the mountains, dreaming and planning for a future that never came.

Nyx watched the island materialise from the sea and fog with a white knuckled grip on the ferry’s railings, as others around him gathered to watch the same magic that gripped him. It had been autumn when he followed King Regis’ call to the Kingsglaive. The islands had sunk into the sea in a blaze of colour, angry Niflheim ships zipping across the disappearing land in their patrols. 

He wasn’t meant to look then, just huddle with the others until they were told it was safe again. 

But he had wanted one last look at the home he was willing to leave and die for.

He remembered his mother’s tears in the tense grey morning. And the little box of keepsakes she had pressed into his hands— his protests at the gift, insistence that the Lucians had said to ‘pack light’— that now decorated the little study in the apartment in Insomnia. They had slipped through the patrols before dawn, dragged into the little boat to be ferried across the war lines into Lucis. 

He remembered peeking above deck, and watching the only home he had ever known sink beneath the grey autumn waves in a last burst of colour. 

And now they rose again. Ashen and shrouded, but very much alive. 

Around him, he could hear the Galahdian language on the tongue of many other passengers. He could hear parents talking about their memories, their homes lost to war. He could hear those who marvelled at the sight each and every trip between kingdoms, and those childish voices who had never seen the lush forests or broken crags of the canyons; who had family there they had never seen and a life back in Lucis they never dreamed of leaving. He heard utterances of prayers, laughter from comments as the shining coastal cities— already skeletal white in the winter winds and wet snow— rose along the island’s edge. At least the Nifs left something standing. 

Beside him, Noctis breathed in deep, and shared his smile as the ferry turned to approach its port. Noctis reached for his hand, pried the white knuckle grip free from the cold metal, and offered soft words that Nyx lost in the awe of being home. 

There was a crowd to greet the ferry, and Nyx could see his mother in it. He could see her— older than he remembered, tired and greyer than he recalled— smiling that bright smile that could melt the snows from her garden in the depth of a Galahdian winter. He could see Selena’s ghost in every exuberant wave and call for attention. Welcomes called from the shore and waves returned from the eager crowd on the boat. 

And Noctis warmed his hand between his own, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. The boat stuttered and rocked as it settled against the pier, the gangplank barely slotted into place before people rushed to greet their loved ones waiting on the shore for them. 

“I’ve waited so long for this,” Nyx muttered, eyes no longer fixed on the very real, very solid, very cold Galahdian port city. He focused on Noctis, as if his Prince would vanish now that he was out of Lucis. 

As if he couldn’t have both in his life. 

But Noctis stayed. And smiled. And tugged lightly at his hand; “I know, hero. You’re home.”

“I can’t wait to show you everything, little star.”


End file.
